


Isn't It Romantic?

by greerian



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - 50s, Angst, Christmas, Christmas Party, College, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Inspired by Sabrina (1954), Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rags to Riches, Snow, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: Kevin stayed a minute more. Until Arnold had left for the tennis court; until he was completely out of sight. After all, Kevin loved him. How could he give up a single moment with him in it when the rest of eternity would keep them apart?





	Isn't It Romantic?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taptaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taptaf/gifts).



> Title from the Ella Fitzgerald song, "Isn't it Romantic." Inspired by the Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart movie, _Sabrina._ Kevin is Sabrina and Arnold is both Linus and David, I suppose. Heed the warnings, and merry Christmas ^-^

Once upon a time, on the north shore of Long Island, some thirty miles from New York, there lived a small boy on a large estate. The boy’s father was a man named Price, who served as butler to one of the wealthiest families in the country. This child was the eldest of several small boys, with one little girl thrown in the mix. His name was Kevin.

He and his siblings were not the only children on the estate. The Cunninghams, who employed the man named Price and quite a few others, had one child of their own. His name was Arnold.

At the age of ten, Arnold gained a sister, adopted from far-away Africa, and her name in polite company was Natalie. In less polite company, she was known as Nabulungi.

The Cunninghams had a party to celebrate her arrival, and of course, it never rained the night of a Cunningham party. Mrs. Marlene Cunningham wouldn’t allow it. Paper lanterns hung from the trees, a full band played gentle music, and everything was elegance and happiness. The party was as close to heaven as one could get on Long Island. Except for young Kevin Price.

He and Arnold were the same age, and Miss Nabulungi was a year younger. Until this time, Kevin Price and Arnold Cunningham had been close friends, as close as Mrs. Cunningham would allow. Any of the scrapes that clumsy, sweet-hearted Arnold would have avoided, high-spirited Kevin dragged him into. Any of the sorrows Kevin had, as the eldest son of a poor but strict butler and his kind but worried wife, a maid for the Cunninghams, Arnold eased. The two of them could be found out back of the garage at any given moment, enjoying Arnold’s unbound imagination and wealth. They were best friends. But a pretty girl is a great temptation, even to boys as young as Arnold and Kevin.

Arnold took one look at her and knew he loved her. Kevin took one look and decided he hated her.

The Cunninghams had dressed her in a lavender and lace gown for the party. Her curly hair was neatly held out of the way to show off sparkling eyes and sweet smile. Arnold, in a much nicer suit than half the men there would ever own, stood by her side, eyes as full of adoration as a ten-year-old’s can be. Together they formed the crown jewel of a gleaming necklace of partygoers on the Cunningham’s white stone patio. Kevin Price watched them from a tree, and hated Miss Nabulungi even more.

He wasn’t pretty like her. He wasn’t a girl like her. He didn’t have her dark skin or white smile or fancy clothes. But Arnold ate jello with him when he broke his jaw, and he helped Arnold sneak into the movies when Mr. Cunningham took them both into the city to see the Cunningham building, and- and Arnold said they were best friends!

All Kevin saw now was that Arnold hadn’t offered to tell Kevin when the party leftovers would return to the kitchen so they could eat them.

“Kevin!” Mr. Price bellowed. “Get down from there!”

Of course, Mr. Price was working the party, and had been assured by the Cunninghams that any disturbance would be on his head. His mischievous eldest child promised to be just such a distraction.

Kevin jumped down as fast as he could to get out of his father’s sight. His cheeks burned. Grubby sleeves wiped at his eyes as they blurred over. His dad was angry; his best friend liked someone else better; and now his mother would be angry he snuck out to see the party. She wouldn’t bring him any eclairs tomorrow.

He tried to slip in through the upstairs window to avoid her scolding, but when his shirttail caught on the latch, he gave himself away by falling to the floor.

“Kevin, what on earth-! What were you doing out?” she cried. Nose bleeding and eyes watering, young Kevin picked himself up off the cottage floor.

“I j-ju-”

“You know better!” his mother said. “What would your father say if he saw you? And look, you’ve stained your shirt.”

But Mrs. Price was nicer than her words. She soon had Kevin as mended and clean as he could be before bundling him off to bed with his brothers. What she didn’t understand, though, and what Kevin couldn’t explain, was why he was still crying.

“Does your nose hurt, darling?”

Kevin shook his head.

“Did you stub your toe or scrape your knee?”

Again, a negative response.

“What’s the matter, then?”

A room over, the Price’s youngest child and only daughter began to stir. Kevin swallowed, and looked towards the wall. Should he speak? _Could_ he?

“Mother,” he started, “can- well, Arnold really likes that new girl.”

“Miss Natalie,” she corrected.

“ _Natalie_ ,” he spit. “He likes her more than he likes me.”

“Now, Kevin, you shouldn’t say things like that. She’s going to be his sister; of course he’s going to like her.”

“But he likes her like Mr. Cunningham likes you.”

Mrs. Price was rendered speechless.

“So, Mother, I want to- well, is there… is there _any_ way boys can like boys the way they like… girls?”

Now, Kevin did not entirely know what he was asking. He knew he wanted to be the person Arnold liked best, and he knew there was something special about how boys liked girls. But, despite his parents’ religious observance and attending Sunday school every week, Kevin Price did not know why such a question would cause his mother to reach out a shaking hand and slap his face.

“Don’t you ever say something like that again!” she hissed. “Do you hear me?”

Kevin did. He never spoke about it again.

* * *

Then the year was 1954. Kevin Price and Arnold Cunningham were both eighteen years old, and Miss Nabulungi was seventeen. While she showed considerable business promise, and Kevin enough determination to do whatever he set his mind to, Arnold’s mind was up in the clouds. Fortunately for him, his time, place, and monetary circumstances allowed it. There was yet another party with no rain to celebrate Arnold’s birthday on the night of July 23rd. It was grand; it was lavish. Again, Kevin watched from the highest branch he could reach on the oak tree looking over the patio. He still wore ratty cast-offs and ran around barefoot whenever possible. Arnold still wore an elegant suit that helped disguise the pudge of his stomach and his acne. The two of them couldn’t have been further apart that night.

Unlike that night eight years ago, Kevin was not determined to hate Miss Nabulungi. He wasn’t determined to be Arnold’s best friend. He wasn’t afraid of missing out on the sweet and savory delights of the Cunninghams’ party. Tonight, Kevin Price was heartbroken.

The following day, Kevin had a train ticket to Berkeley, California, to work for an old friend of his father. That work would earn him his tuition at the illustrious business school there. The news had brought a smile to even stern Mr. Price’s face. Kevin Price would have a future. He may work for the Cunninghams, but he would work as a peer, an equal. He would not serve any man.

But Kevin wanted to serve. Or, rather, he wanted anything that would bring him closer to the boy whose life his own had followed. He was a mere shadow. Without the shadow’s caster, he felt himself to be nothing.

Arnold Cunningham had fallen out of love with Nabulungi, but they stayed close as ever. Fully and completely, she took Kevin’s place as his confidant, playmate, and friend. She had encouraged Arnold’s affections towards girl after girl in the name of his happiness, and tonight his eyes were on a blonde who just wouldn’t stop giggling.

Kevin could not hate Nabulungi anymore, though. Despite the Cunningham name and all its privileges, she would tell him stories of life in her homeland. Where children starved, men killed, and nobody dared to question what or why. Of how she would not have learned to read, had a priest who went to minister to her village not thought her precocious. She alone understood what it was like to be the poor one on an estate of extravagance. She alone treated Kevin like a friend.

Arnold had forgotten about him eight years before.

The Cunningham children glowed. Kevin watched them until the bark of the tree pressed so hard into his skin it hurt. He had never been on the stone patio where Arnold now stood except to clean it. He had not spoken to Arnold in years, except in passing. He had not lived in any way he wanted to live. He did not want to live.

Again, tears ran down Kevin’s cheeks, from the heights of the oak tree on the Cunningham estate. The lively band covered the sound of his sobs; this party was less restrained than the one for Nabulungi’s adoption.

Kevin had long known that what he wanted, in his heart of hearts, would never come true. He wanted the boy who had been his best friend to stand at his side and say words men never said to each other. He wanted that boy in his bed. He wanted that boy in every sense one can want another. And he knew Arnold Cunningham did not want the same.

In a shadowed corner of the patio, Arnold had pulled the blonde aside and whispered in her ear. Kevin knew what would happen next: she’d make her excuses and flit out towards the indoor tennis court. Arnold would charm the barkeep out of two glasses and a bottle of champagne. He would head after her. Nabulungi would keep watch for them. Arnold’s favorite song would play, and before a full glass of champagne was gone between the two of them, Arnold would have his hands on her waist and his mouth on hers. Given another glass and another half hour, and those hands would be somewhere less seemly.

Kevin shuddered and bit his lip.

He couldn’t go on like this. How many times had he watched from this exact spot, waiting, hoping that Arnold would look up and see him? Or ask where he was? Or remember that he- that _they_ -

But no. It would be wrong. What Kevin is, what he always has been, was wrong, and Arnold was not. Arnold was going to Harvard in the fall, and his parents were so proud of him. He did what boys are supposed to do and kissed girls. Kevin cried like a child and didn’t want to go to school to earn money. Kevin didn’t want to leave this place, but he couldn’t possibly stay.

He had thought before of falling out of the tree. How would it feel to let go of the branch in his grip? How would it feel to hit the ground?

It would hurt, he had decided, but it would never kill him. And, tonight, it would ruin Arnold’s birthday party. But tonight would still be the end. Maybe the chauffeur would find his body when he went to drive guests home. Or maybe, somehow, tonight would stay happy and pure and full of light for everyone else.

Kevin didn’t know. He didn’t care.

A note lay on his pillow, confessing his every secret. The bruises he still remembered from his father’s fists after trying to sneak up to Arnold’s room. The times he saw his mother and Mr. Cunningham and how his sister was born with Arnold’s thick curls. How he talked with Nabulungi, and tried to kiss her once, to see if he could taste Arnold in it. How everything he saw and felt and wanted was Arnold Cunningham. Why dying was better than living without him.

But Kevin stayed a minute more. Until Arnold had left for the tennis court; until he was completely out of sight. After all, Kevin loved him. How could he give up a single moment with him in it when the rest of eternity would keep them apart?

The opening trumpet notes of Arnold’s song began, though. Kevin climbed down from the tree. With steady steps, he walked towards the eight-car garage. The chauffeur, Fairchild, had taught him how to drive years ago. Kevin’s practiced hands unlocked the garage, closed all the doors and windows, and turned every key in every ignition. Then he went to the back wall, sat down against it, closed his eyes, and waited. Waiting. Waiting; is that all Kevin ever did? Is that what he will be remembered for? Or will it be for not waiting. Not waiting for school and California and adulthood to make everything better for him. Not that it mattered. All Kevin cared about after his death is that Arnold should not be invited to his funeral. He probably wouldn’t even cry.

It was almost like falling asleep. Except, this time, Kevin knew he wouldn’t wake up. A soft smile crossed his lips.

But then the garage door opened.

“What’s this? What’s going on? Wh- Kevin?!”

Kevin tried to open his eyes. It didn’t work.

“Kevin?”

Oh, no.

“Kevin, what are you doing here? What’s going on?!”

 _Please_ , no.

“What? ‘Please’ what? Kevin, what’s all this?”

Arnold shook his shoulder, and Kevin wished he had left the party a moment earlier. A moment more would have done it, wouldn’t it? Then he wouldn’t have to face this. Kevin wouldn’t have to face _him_.

“I… I dunno,” he muttered, trying to gather himself somewhat.

“Why are all the cars running?”

“I dunno.”

“What _do_ you know?” Arnold cried. “Naba told me she heard noise coming from the garage, but she didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know, either, until I come in and see all the cars on and- and you, sitting here! What the heck are you doing?”

Kevin’s mouth opened, then clicked shut. What could he say to that?

“Come on,” Arnold said. In an instant, his arms wrapped around Kevin’s torso and started tugging him up off the floor. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“N-no,” Kevin stammered. Being on his feet--was he even there?--felt like being on the carousel at the fair. Nothing looked right, or felt right, or- “Arnold…”

Kevin opened his eyes that night to the sight of his family’s attic ceiling. A familiar pillow lay under his head. He was tucked into his bed under a familiar quilt. How he got there, no one could say. Through the open window, Arnold’s favorite song still played. And Kevin was alone.

* * *

 

1958\. Waistbands are lower; shoulders are broader. Color is fashionable once again, and Kevin takes advantage of that as much as a charity case college student can. After all, he’s a homophilic man in San Francisco. If his tie is more garish than half the ladies’ dresses at a party, that’s par for the course. And if half those ties are hand-me-downs from his richer, more flamboyant roommate, well…

“Are you _sure_ you have to head back for Christmas?” Connor McKinley whines. “I don’t want to be all alone here.”

Kevin snorts. His suitcase--a gift from his sponsor-employer on three years of solid grades--is neatly packed. A train ticket sits in his back pocket. He’s twenty-one years old, about to graduate as a businessman from the University of California at Berkeley, and has listened to similar sob stories from his first pal in the city every holiday he’s spent out here.

“You’re never alone, Con,” he teases, wrapping a stylish red scarf around his neck and posing before their full-length mirror. “You’re a fast guy. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry who’s ever looked sideways at a man is lined up to spend their Christmas with you.”

“Sometimes a guy wants more than a dick,” Connor huffs. “You’ve got brains.”

“You’re telling me you like me for more than my looks?”

“You _ass_.”

“Cool it, babe,” Kevin says with a wink. “You know I’ll be back soon.”

“Will you?” Connor asks, suddenly serious. “Every time you head back home I think you’re cutting out for good.”

“Why?” Kevin asks. “What do I got back there to keep me?”

“Your family. That girl. That guy.”

“Con-”

“I know,” Connor interrupts, slinking up to him and resting his chin on Kevin’s shoulder. “We don’t talk about him. But he’s out there, and you’re real gone on him, still.”

“Would I’ve gone with you if I was still gone on him?”

Connor laughs. “You would and you did,” he answers. “Don’t get me wrong, we had a swell time, but you could never keep your mind on me.”

“Don’t be like that, Con,” Kevin says. It comes out more like a plea than he hoped.

Connor’s smile falls. “I don’t mean to hurt you,” he says softly. “I know he’s what got you out here in the first place. But how long are you gonna keep going back and mooning over him? He’s straight as a pole, isn’t he?”

Kevin shrugs him off and goes for the hat hanging off his bedpost. “It’s not just for him. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on the little monsters at home.”

“And who’s keeping an eye on you?” Connor asks. Standing by the mirror like that, vulnerable and sad the way he only lets himself get on liquor-soaked nights and post-breakup days, Kevin remembers Connor the way he was over three years ago. Kevin had shown up in San Fran scared, lost, and hopeless. Connor waved him over, slung an arm round his neck, and whispered _I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a boy who wants some good dick more than you. Wanna bounce and go find a bar to cheer you up?_

Connor hadn’t been in a much better place himself at that point. But Connor had a grandfather who adored him and paid for his decadent lifestyle. Connor had talent and charm in spades. Better than that, Connor had _connections_. The rumored meetups for queers like them, the dives, the parties, the men--Connor thrived in that world. He dragged Kevin along, and after their first messy, wonderful, terrible kiss, Kevin never looked back.

“You are,” Kevin answers. For a moment, he lets his veneer down, lets Connor see a real smile. “I’ll be back around New Year’s. Don’t keep watch.”

Kevin walks briskly through the California heat to the train station.

Connor may have given him freedom, independence, and a strength Kevin never knew he had, but there’s always something a little too right about heading home. Watching the scenery change from desert to plain to the snow-covered trees of the northeast. Knowing that his parents will greet him with gingerbread and proud, if stiff, hugs. Feeling the anticipation rise in his chest until he can hardly breathe. This year, though, he’s going to give it up. Christmas day, Kevin Price will stand tall in his best suit, look his father in the eye, and tell him who he really is. Kevin Price is a gay man, and he’s not coming back to Long Island.

It’s not that San Francisco is home. But people like him there. Men want him, peers tease him, and professors beam at him over stacks of test papers. He’s flirted with a few job offers and knows, friend of Dorothy or not, he’ll be able to live a comfortable life in California. When Kevin hid, it nearly cost him his life. He won’t do that again. He can’t.

The train whistle blasts, and Kevin swings up onto the nearest car with a hand on his hat and his arm around his suitcase. Today, he’s going home for Christmas, for the very last time.

* * *

Kevin has three good suits. The navy blue isn’t his best, but it sure does bring out his eyes. So it’s navy blue Kevin wears as he waits at the Glen Cove station for his father to pick him up in the staff car. It doesn’t matter that he’s not trying to attract anyone here. He left for college a scruffy child, and he’ll be damned if anyone still sees him that way now.

It sure is cold out, though.

Another few minutes, and Kevin is determined to flag down the next car that passes and ask for a lift. Watering eyes and red cheeks aren’t worth risking on this trip.

“Hey!” he calls, waving down a brand new Chrysler whizzing his direction. “Hey, hold up! Mind giving me a ride?”

It’s a risky move; this is the station of the uppity elite, the ones with cash out the wazoo. A hitchhiker would have better luck at Glenn Street, down the road. But maybe folks’ll be a little more generous in the spirit of the season.

Sure enough, the Chrysler slows down and pulls up to the station house. Kevin grins in relief.

“Thanks, pal,” he says, striding up to the car. “I thought I’d freeze half to-” Then he does freeze. Who else opens the door to the passenger side but Arnold Cunningham.

“Hi,” Kevin breathes.

“Well, hello,” Arnold answers cheerfully. “Heading somewhere?”

“Yes, I’m home for the holidays.”

“How about I help get you there, then?” Arnold suggests. Kevin’s grip on his suitcase doubles in strength, and he’s just about to say- to ask, well, _something_ , when Arnold continues: “Where do you live? I don’t know if I’ve seen you around before.”

Kevin’s heart stops.

Of course, he has changed. He’s avoided Arnold every Christmas and stayed in Berkeley over summers. It’s not a surprise that Arnold doesn’t recognize him. But part of Kevin thinks he still should.

“That’s right,” he says faintly. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Arnold replies, grinning. “Hop in, and then I’ll see if your name comes to me. I feel like I’ve seen you before. But it’s too cold to stay out there for long.”

Kevin swallows. “My father should be here soon,” he tries.

Arnold’s grin only grows. “Don’t you want a look on the inside of here?” he asks. His hand sweeps lovingly across the mahogany dashboard, and Kevin’s face starts to burn. Well, burn _more_. “Brand spankin’ new, fresh out of the factory. My old man got it rushed for Christmas. You can’t find a car like this anywhere else.”

 _I can’t find a man like you anywhere else_ , Kevin thinks, and wants to kick himself.

“Sure,” he hears himself say instead. “I’d love a peek.”

* * *

“So,” Arnold says. He’s better at driving than Kevin remembered. Got a stronger jaw, too. And better hair. “Where do I know you from?”

“Who says you know me?” Kevin answers. Eyes out the front windshield, he doesn’t dare look over.

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling,” Arnold says. “But don’t leave me hanging. Have we met before?”

A beat. Kevin nods.

“I knew it!” Arnold crows. “All right, how long ago?”

“Couple years,” Kevin answers tightly.

“Before or after school? I’ve been at Harvard for a while.”

“I know,” Kevin says. “Damn, I- I mean, I was at the, that party your folks threw, that summer.”

Arnold laughs. “I was a different fella, back then,” he says. “Everybody changes in college.”

“They sure do.”

“Is that why you don’t want to admit you knew me?”

Kevin can’t help looking over then. “What?”

Arnold shrugs. “I was a nerd,” he says. “Kind of a spaz. Way too girl-crazy, you know what I mean?”

“Um…”

“Now I’m more guy-crazy, if you catch my drift.”

“... _what_.”

Arnold winks; Kevin dies inside.

Arnold, guy-crazy? Crazy for guys? For… men?

“I’m from San Francisco!” Kevin blurts out. “I’m from San Francisco, did I say that?”

Arnold glances over; Kevin sees his brow furrow. “Where all that- the rallies and stuff is going down?”

“Yeah, yep, there.” _Where being queer isn’t as bad as they say it is._

“San Francisco, huh?” Arnold looks like a Christmas puppy for all of a second, before that puppy gets kicked and his tail hangs between his legs. “I, uh… I had a friend who went to school out there. At least, I think it was out there. Somewhere west, for sure.”

“Oh yeah?”

Kevin doesn’t think for a second Arnold could be talking about him. Maybe some Ivy Leaguer from Stanford; he’s still thrown for a loop that Arnold called himself ‘guy-crazy.’

But Arnold says “Yes, a friend of my family. Kevin Price.”

Kevin chokes.

“I’m sorry?” he says.

“Me too,” Arnold sighs. “We were real close as kids. Best friends, actually. I don’t know what happened, but we just… stopped, at some point. I haven’t seen him in years. The night he left was something strange, and I told him to write, but…”

Arnold’s silence is more telling than any words could say.

“Well, that’s a real shame,” Kevin says loudly. “But you’re a college man. You’ve got grander things to care about than a kid you used to be pals with.”

If Arnold agrees, then Kevin will have been right. Everything he’s done to get over this ridiculous, amazing, breathtaking man driving the car they’re in will be worth it. If not-

“Yeah,” Arnold sighs. “I guess you’re right.” But he looks downright miserable saying it.

“Um,” Kevin says. “So, Harvard, huh?”

Not his best subject change, but it gets Arnold talking until they pull into the courtyard of the Cunningham Estate. It’s snow-covered and beautiful as a Christmas card. A smile tugs at Kevin’s mouth, even now. Even here.

“Oh, gee, I’m sorry,” Arnold stammers, blushing. “I drove right on in to my place, I got so distracted.”

“It’s no trouble,” Kevin answers, pasting on a grin. “This is my stop anyhow.”

A blur of gently-falling snow, biting wind, then Kevin’s out in it. A second later, a dark shape throws itself at him with a squeal.

“Kevin!” Nabulungi cries. “How good to see you again! It has been so long!”

“Nabulungi,” he laughs, “I’ve answered all your letters.” Of course he did. They’re Kevin’s only real tie to this place. And she always puts a little something about Arnold in without him having to ask.

“They are not the same as _seeing_ you! But Kevin, you should head inside. Arnold is-”

“Shh!” Kevin hisses. He jerks his head towards the Chrysler, with Arnold climbing out beside it. Her dark eyes widen, looking like frozen lakes in the night.

“Coming from town,” she finishes. “I… thought he would be later. Hello, Arnold!”

“Hey,” he mutters. He’s scowling. In return, Kevin turns his smile up a watt or two more.

“So nice of you to drive me,” he says, looking over his shoulder Arnold’s way as he fetches his suitcase from the trunk. “Your sister’s right; I haven’t been back in ages.”

“Kevin Price?” Arnold says.

 _Well, yes_ , Kevin thinks. _Everyone else on these grounds knows me. You haven’t bothered in a while. Why are you surprised?_

But then he takes a hit to the knee; his sister Debbie almost brings him down with an unmatchably fierce hug.

“Hey, lovebug!” he greets her. “You gotta be careful. I’m not a kid anymore. You could’ve knocked me on my-”

“Watch what you’re about to say,” Mom says, then she’s hugging him too, and over her shoulder Kevin sees his brothers, snow-covered and red-cheeked, coming to welcome him.  He hides the tears pricking at his eyes in his mother’s scratchy wool scarf. To think, this is it. This is the last time.

“I’m so glad to see you,” he whispers.

“Hey, um, yeah, Kevin?”

Kevin frowns. That’s Arnold again.

“Can I, uh… talk to you?”

“What?”

“Can I talk to you?” he repeats. Hands shoved in his pockets, squared shoulders, he looks more like his father than he ever has. Well, two can play at that game.

Kevin straightens up, smiling. “Sure, _pal_ ,” he answers. “Mom, I’ll see you in a minute?”

“Oh, no, Kevin, there’s a party tonight!” she says. “I could only take a second away. Your father and I are so glad you’re back, but we’ll have to take tomorrow to catch up, after church.”

Right. “Yeah. Okay, Mom, we’ll do that.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek, then she and Debbie and his brothers all trail off towards the Cunningham house. Naba hovers a second longer.

“Arnold-” she starts.

“Hey, Naba, how about you whip up some hot cocoa for our cross-country traveler?” he interrupts. “He came all this way from San Francisco, after all.”

She looks Kevin’s way. He shrugs. She makes a face, but also turns to tread the flagstone path back towards the mansion, leaving Kevin and Arnold alone in the courtyard.

Kevin made his bed on the car ride. Now he gets to lie in it. He sighs and braces himself for whatever vitriol Arnold thinks it’s within his rights to spew.

“You never wrote,” Arnold says.

“Didn’t know you wanted me to,” Kevin responds.

“I told you I did.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“You said you would.”

Kevin looks to the skies for patience. “I don’t remember that,” he says.

“Why not? You wrote everyone else.”

“Are you really asking?”

That sends Arnold for a loop. “What do you mean? I am really asking.”

“I don’t remember anything from that night,” Kevin answers; confesses.

“You said you were there.”

“God, of course I was there! I was always at those parties! But I don’t remember _that_ one.”

“Why not?”

Kevin throws his head back and laughs. No patience from the heavens tonight. “Because, Arnold! You were there; don’t _you_ remember? You told me just now it was something strange, didn’t you? And wasn’t it? You remember, don’t you?”

Arnold doesn’t answer.

“A garage full of running cars?” Kevin goads. “Me, just sitting there? Like I was waiting for something to happen? Me, not remembering afterwards? Me, needing _you_ to put me to bed? Now, I wonder _why_ I couldn’t remember.”

“Kevin-”

“I was trying to die. The carbon monoxide kept me from remembering. That’s why, Arnold.”

Arnold clears his throat.

Kevin cocks his head. “Now what?” he asks. “If you’d like an apology, I have no problem with that. I’m sorry, Arnold Cunningham, that I didn’t remember. I remembered the rest, though. If you wanted to hear from me, all you had to do was ask.”

“I thought I could ask now,” Arnold says.

Oh. “Ask away, mister.”

“How about an invitation?”

“An- a what?”

“To the party tonight.” A smile peeks from the corner of Arnold’s mouth. “It’ll be better inside than staying up in the old oak all evening. And I’d get to hear all your grand stories of California while you charm the crowds.”

“Who says I’ll charm anyone?” Kevin replies, reeling. “I didn’t wear shoes while climbing trees. What would your guests think of that?”

“I recognize that tie,” Arnold answers. “That’s designer. And your suit isn’t exactly wash and wear. You could show in that and turn heads.”

“Is that why you didn’t recognize me?”

Then Arnold blushes, ducking his head. “There’s a lot about you now I’m not used to,” he murmurs.

This feels like a conversation for a seedy bar in San Fran. It feels like a saucy pulp magazine story where Kevin has to change the names in his head. It does not feel like a Long Island Christmas card conversation. But his cheeks heat up as snow brushes them and collects on his hat; Arnold is looking at him and Kevin has never imagined him wearing that shade of grey or that pattern on his tie. This is new. This is strange.

This is wonderful.

“All right,” Kevin says. “I’ll take the bait. Tonight? What time?”

Arnold blinks. “Eight o’clock,” he blurts out. “You’ll come?”

 _If I can avoid my father, and yours_ , Kevin thinks. “Sure,” he says. “Sounds romantic.”

* * *

 

It is so very romantic. The white marble that forms the imposing face of the Cunningham’s mansion is lit up and decked in gold. Red ribbons peek out here and there, but the idea is to dazzle. If Kevin didn’t know better, he would be dazzled beyond words. But he catches sight of his mother’s handiwork. He sees the folded-under wires, the pasted-on tinsel. He sees cheap wine poured for heavier drinkers, and reused glasses.

How could it still be magical?

He’s in his best suit. Black, which is not fashionable, but is elegant. It suits him, Connor would say. _Why that tie, though?_ he would ask. He’d tsk, and fix the skewed knot Kevin managed. _If you’re trying to impress a stuffshirt, you have to look at least as good as them. Come on, Kevin, it’s like you didn’t grow up with millions of dollars before your very eyes._

Kevin’s tie is red, and it’s not silk. But this one is his favorite. It was his first; his first gift from San Francisco. The first thing that told him he could be more than Kevin Price, the boy.

“Kevin Price!” someone says. Kevin whirls around to see Mrs. Cunningham, with a good few more wrinkles than he remembered. “Why, you’re all grown up! What are you doing here?”

“It’s Christmas vacation, Mrs. Cunningham,” he answers with a blinding grin. “I’m home for the holidays.”

“Yes, dear, but what are you doing _here_?” Her gaze flickers around, and now he knows Arnold didn’t care to inform his parents of his unexpected, last-minute guest.

“Your son invited me,” he says brightly. “He said he wanted to hear all my ‘grand stories.’”

Mrs. Cunningham’s eyes narrow. “And where was it you’re going to school?”

“University of California, ma’am,” he answers. “At Berkeley.” _Where all the queers are._

A second more and she’s yanking him by the coat sleeve down to her level. “You listen to me,” she whispers, “you stay away from my son. He’s getting these ideas about moving away, and we’ve found him with all sorts of- of unsavory types. I don’t want a boy like you putting any ideas into his head.”

“Ma’am,” Kevin answers, “if you didn’t scare me as a kid, you certainly won’t scare me now. Now, I really should find Arnold. It’s rude to come to a party and not thank the host.”

He leaves her spluttering and pale as he snags the nearest waiter for a glass of champagne. It’s good stuff, and strong.

“I’ll need it,” he mutters into its glossy, bubbling, golden surface. He doesn’t fit here. This grandeur, it’s not his scene. It’s good Arnold never looked twice at him before. Kevin Price would be the unsavory ghost of a house like this, not the kind lady in silks Arnold deserved. Kevin came, he’ll chat, then he’ll be out of here. Arnold will get whatever it is he wants.

“‘Guy-crazy’ my ass.”

A passing matron glares him down. At least when he straightens up and flashes her a smile, the glare grows a little more interested. That’s what Kevin needed to see. He doesn’t want this, but these people, this place--they want him. He’s not good enough, but he’s damn close.

And then Arnold appears. He doesn’t stick out as much as he did as a kid. His suit is white; his tie, black. His hair is tamed, his glasses are clean, and he’s smiling at whatever dolled-up dame has caught his attention this time around. But this time, Arnold brushes her off. His eyes come up to scan the room, and they land on Kevin.

He smiles. That’s new.

That’s strange.

Arnold neatly maneuvers through the crowd and comes to a stop at Kevin’s side. That’s wonderful.

“Hey,” he greets, “I’m glad you came.”

“I said I would,” Kevin answers, staring down his champagne. “What’s the vintage?”

“What? Oh, uh, ‘45, I think. You look nice.”

Kevin eyes him. “You said that this afternoon.”

“And it was true.”

The look Arnold’s giving him is unfamiliar. Or it’s too familiar, but has never been turned in his direction before. It’s wide-eyed and warm, bashful but adoring. Kevin doesn’t trust it.

Kevin looks him over. “You too. Harvard shaped you up real good.”

“Did I ever tell you what I study?” Arnold asks eagerly.

Kevin snorts into the glass. Arnold didn’t tell him shit the past decade.

“It’s writing!” Arnold volunteers. “Remember when we used to tell stories out back of the garage, and-”

“And I would act them out,” Kevin finishes. “I never told anything; I couldn’t come up with a new idea to save my life.”

“But you made them all real,” Arnold says. He steps in closer. “And now, look at me, I’m writing a novel, and I’ve got a publisher all lined up. Thanks to you.”

Kevin frowns. “Look, I didn’t do anything,” he says.

“It was because of you,” Arnold answers. “I would never have gotten there if you weren’t-”

“I didn’t _do_ _anything_ ,” Kevin interrupts, “because we weren’t friends after 1946.”

“What?” Arnold asks, breathlessly. The warmth around his eyes is gone, replaced by shock, plain and clear. “What do you mean, we weren’t-? What?”

The siren call of Kevin’s champagne--won’t Connor be pissed when Kevin tells him--isn’t enough to distract him anymore.

“Why did you invite me here?” he asks, turning to face Arnold head on. “Did how ‘nice’ I look catch your ‘guy-crazy’ eye? Just because we were friends once doesn’t mean I’ll be someone for you to fool around with. Your parents didn’t know I was coming. You never asked my family where I was going to school, and you never tried to write.”

“Sure I did, Kevin!” Arnold cries. Heads start to turn their way. “Sure I did! I asked your mom where you were, and she-”

“Wait,” Kevin says. “You asked-?”

But the surrounding crowd is fast becoming their audience. Arnold looks around and gestures to the hallway.

“I wanted to have a private conversation,” he says, once Kevin follows, scowling.

“A private conversation or grand stories, which was it?” Kevin mocks.

Arnold grabs his champagne.

“I asked your mother for your address and she said you were busy with classes,” he states. “So, I didn’t bother you. She said you would be home for summer vacation. You didn’t come.”

Kevin doesn’t know what to say.

“I want you to be here,” Arnold says. “Didn’t I say I missed you? In the car?”

Kevin grits his teeth. “I’m here,” he says. “Now you don’t have to miss me.”

“Kevin-”

“Let’s go back and join the party, how about?”

Kevin pushes past him, back into the fray.

The rest of the evening is a cautious dance, a careful play around each other. Arnold stands across the room. Kevin tries to observe him but it’s harder when Arnold knows he’s there. Half the times he glances over, Arnold is glancing back. The champagne is sour on his tongue, and the decorations are overwhelmingly loud. And, of course, Arnold has changed. Instead of fumbling and laughing too loud, he’s collected. He makes small talk and catches the firelight in his eyes, his hair. He’s handsome. He’s mature. He smiles, and Kevin’s heart leaps in his chest.

Kevin wants to laugh. On his last trip before cold, unforgiving freedom; after all this time apart, Arnold means to say he missed him? Is Kevin supposed to believe it?

A hi-hat rattles; polite applause washes over the party guests. It’s time for dancing. Kevin looks the room over, looking for a dandied degenerate to scandalize Mrs. Cunningham with on the dance floor, but Arnold stands near the doors, searching the crowd for something.

A song begins: Arnold’s favorite.

Kevin’s champagne flute quickly finds a home on a nearby tabletop. Shaking hands go to fix his tie, then his hair, then his jacket as he turns to leave. It’s his dearest dream. It’s his worst nightmare. A Cunningham party, heaven on earth, with Arnold. Kevin gets to dance with him. Everyone will look; everyone will stare. And Arnold doesn’t really want any of it.

Kevin came, and now he’s going. He’ll go back to his parents’ attic, strip down to his drawers and sleep. The party will continue, and he’ll be gone, and he always knew that was how it was going to end.

“Kevin, wait!” It’s Nabulungi. “Arnold says he is looking for you.”

Kevin does not turn. “Tell him I’m tired, and I’m heading home.”

“He is worried.”

That makes Kevin laugh. “If he’s really that worked up,” he says, his back still to her and her loveliness, damn her, “I’ll be in the indoor tennis court. Tell him to bring two glasses and some white wine, and have the band play his favorite song.”

Nabulungi’s fingers graze his coat sleeve as he steps out into the cold night. His breath frosts as he pauses, for just a moment, on the front step. The indoor tennis court--a taunt, but maybe…

Before Kevin can think about it too much, he and his best suit and favorite tie are traipsing off through unshoveled snow towards the tennis court. Who knows. Maybe Arnold will surprise him. It is Christmas. This is the time for miracles, people say.

Those people tend to believe in God, though.

The tennis court is somehow as beautiful as Kevin remembers. It isn’t decorated or lit, but the style is timeless. It’s exactly the same as his memories, but he’s inside now. If he closes his eyes, and hums a little, it’s just like Arnold has asked him to be here. Like Arnold is really coming with wine and dirty intentions. Like they’re going to be happy, and tonight is going to be the most magical, romantic night they’ve ever known.

The glass door opens; Kevin whirls around.

“Sorry!” Arnold blusters. There’s snow caught all in his hair. Two glasses and a bottle of wine are in his hands. He puts them down and shoves his hands up under his armpits. “It’s real cold out, and I had to fetch something. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come out here.”

“You came,” Kevin breathes. “You actually came.”

“Well, yes,” Arnold answers, frowning. “You told Naba to tell me so.”

“I… did.” Kevin chuckles, running a hand through his damp hair. “I did.”

“Um,” Arnold says. “I brought some chardonnay?”

“Forget the wine,” Kevin says. In a second he’s crossed the space between him and Arnold. “Forget the party, forget everything. You came.”

“Y- yeah, Kevin?”

Kevin stops, maybe a foot away. Arnold’s face is red, and not just from the cold. Though the way it pinked his cheeks and flushed his lips was worth making the trek.

“Arnold?”

“I…” Arnold fidgets. “There’s something I have to show you.”

“Okay,” Kevin replies, wary. Arnold looks more like a child than a man in this moment, and Kevin wonders why. What does _he_ have to fear?

Arnold fumbles with a pocket inside his jacket and pulls out a worn, folded-up paper.

“This is… yours,” he admits, handing it over.

Kevin doesn’t understand until he unfolds it, noticing the creases, and sees:

_To my mother, father, Fairchild, or whoever finds me-_

“No,” he says. “This isn’t mine.”

“Kevin,” Arnold starts.

Kevin crumples the paper in an instant and tosses it away. It crinkles, hits the floor, rolls to the net and stops. The court is silent.

“Tell me you didn’t read it,” Kevin whispers. Out of the corner of his eye, Arnold shifts his weight. Guilty.

“So that’s why you suddenly give a damn about me.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Watch what you’re about to say,” Kevin snaps. “I could deck you right now, and I am one millimeter away from doing it.”

“I always gave a damn about you!” Arnold protests, coming even closer. Kevin could count his freckles right now. “I didn’t know you didn’t know until I saw that.”

“And you have the goddamn _nerve_ to ask why I didn’t write you?”

“You said you loved-”

“And I tried to kill myself because of it!” Kevin shouts. “I tried to kill myself because of you! Don’t you get it? I never saw you because I knew, I _knew_ I could never have you. Then I come back this time to say goodbye and you’re playing nice all of a sudden? You’re queer and you want to talk to me? Well, if you’re feeling guilty, pal, an apology would go over a hell of a lot better than this.”

“Kevin, please, listen to me.”

“Why? So you can tell me how you pity me? So you’ll kiss me, and-” And Kevin’s throat closes up. He thought this might actually be a good Christmas. What a fool he was. “I never should have come back here.”

“Kevin, stop!”

Arnold grabs his sleeve and, just like that summer night, Kevin can’t go just yet. He loves Arnold. God, Kevin still loves him. He can’t go, but he can’t stay. So he waits.

“I read your note that night,” Arnold says, softly. “And I didn’t know what to think. I shoved it in my desk because I didn’t want to hear about my dad and- well. Or about how you- I guess we both know what the note said. But the night before I went to college, I read it, all the way through. It opened my eyes, Kevin. I… I saw everything I didn’t know to look for. When I went to school, I spent all my time trying to learn about all those new things, and about people, and myself. I thought I was a good guy, and nice enough, but what you wrote showed me that I was- I was just a jerk. I didn’t care about anybody else; I never had. And all my family’s money, all this…” He looks around the tennis court. “What was the point?”

Kevin pulls away.

“Wait!” Arnold cries, ducking around to stop him. “Wait, wait, just another minute. I’m sorry, I’ll wrap it up.”

Kevin looks away, but doesn’t try to move.

Arnold sighs in relief. “Okay,” he says. “You said- you wrote that you couldn’t stand to see me put my hands on one more girl.”

Kevin flinches.

“So I didn’t,” Arnold blurts. “I didn’t, Kevin, okay? Not a single one. Not any guys, either. I- I just thought about you, and everything you saw in me, and even when everybody at school was hooking up, I didn’t. I wanted…”

“What, Arnold?” Kevin mutters, when Arnold doesn’t go on. “Out of everything in the world you have, what else could you possibly want?”

A beat. The tension, the hesitation, is thick in the air.

“I wanted you to be proud of me.”

Proud of him? Kevin’s been proud of him from the moment Arnold told his first story. From the first time Kevin played the knight and Arnold his squire. From the first time Arnold didn’t stutter when talking to adults. Kevin was proud of him when he kissed all those girls, and when he laughed at their jokes, and when he was happy and confident with them. Kevin has always been proud of him. Except right now.

“I guess, somehow, I fell in love with you along the way,” he says.

Kevin yanks his arm out of Arnold’s grip.

“I wanted tonight to be like all those other nights,” Arnold says desperately. “Since that’s what you wanted. Isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it?” Kevin echoes. Again he stands at a door, waiting. Again, he’s about to run. Will he run forever? Waiting and running. Wait. Run.

Kevin turns to face Arnold again.

“Don’t pity me,” he says. “Don’t do this because you think I want it. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!”

“I loved you,” Kevin says, for the first time. It’s out in the air now, hanging heavy like a snow cloud on a freezing night. Moonlight pours in through the court’s glass walls and bathes them both. In it, Arnold looks heartbroken. “You don’t love me.”

“I do,” Arnold replies, quiet and small. Two words have never suited less. “Why would I say I do, Kevin? Why would I lie to you?”

“Well-”

“You’re a businessman,” Arnold interrupts. “Think about it. What do I have to gain by telling you I love you? I risk a lot, though. Don’t I? I risk what my parents will think. I risk my place at school, and-”

“You wouldn’t tell them,” Kevin says, incredulous. “They would destroy you.”

“Exactly! That’s what I mean, Kevin. I love you, and- and I would tell anyone you want that’s the truth.”

Wait. Run. Stay. Choose.

Kevin has no more pain to lose, and everything to gain. He’s wanted this man his whole life. Arnold hurt him, over and over again, but he didn’t know that. And when he did, he says, he took steps to make it right.

 _And fell in love with me, somehow_.

“Would you kiss me?” Kevin asks.

“Yes!” Arnold says.

“Right now?”

“Y- yes!”

Kevin closes his eyes and opens his arms, waiting. Waiting again, but not for long. The sound of quick steps on the tennis court floor, and a hot breath washing over his mouth, and a moment of hesitation; against the cold of the room, Arnold’s presence is so warm. Then his mouth is on Kevin’s, and it’s everything.

* * *

The tennis court becomes their place. Everyday the two of them go there, and every day Kevin waits for a kiss. Everyday Arnold satisfies him with more than enough. Everyday, Kevin believes his words a little more.

Enough that, on Christmas day, the two of them are grinning as they sneak out amidst the chaos and revelry of their homes.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Kevin chances to say.

Arnold’s laugh echoes against the glass ceiling. “Merry Christmas, buddy,” he replies. Their mouths stay occupied for a good while after that, but eventually they break apart, half-gasping for breath. Kevin finds his hands grabbing tight to Arnold’s hips, and Arnold’s at his neck and cheek.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if you and I didn’t know each other, at the train station?” Arnold asks.

“What?” Kevin replies.

“When I picked you up,” Arnold explains, lifting his head to meet Kevin’s eyes. “If you had been a complete stranger, and I- if we had fallen in love then and there. What would have happened?”

A smirk crosses Kevin’s face. “I would have sucked you off in the driver’s seat,” he says, and laughs when Arnold starts and goes red. “But really, I don’t know.”

“W-well, uh, I think- I think I still would have talked about Kevin Price. And… I would tell you some stuff I’ve never told anyone.”

Kevin raises a curious eyebrow.

“I would’ve given you a message,” Arnold says. “For Kevin.”

They both lean in until they can’t get any closer, forehead to forehead in a soft caress.

“I would’ve said, if you catch sight of Kevin Price out there,” Arnold whispers, “tell him his friend Arnold is coming to visit.”

“Oh yeah?” Kevin asks. “To San Francisco?”

“Yeah. Turn of the year, he’ll be on the first plane to California.” Arnold bites his lip. In the cold silence of the tennis court, he looks angelic, and handsome, and perfect. “If Kevin will have him, he’ll stay as long as he can.”

“Isn’t that romantic?” Kevin replies, and kisses Arnold’s breath away.


End file.
